The Sex God
by LW107
Summary: Mark Sloan had spent years perfecting his technique. He’s been told on more than one occasion that he’s a sex god. But is he really? A McStizzie oneshot inspired by my need to pick on men and their giant egos. All in good fun, of course.


Mark Sloan had spent years perfecting his technique. Ever since his fifteenth birthday when he lost his virginity to Ellen Kaminski in a bathroom stall of his catholic high school, he'd experimented with different ways to improve his sexual prowess, trying various positions with various lovers in various beds across the country. He didn't like to brag, but he could easily bring a woman to a screaming orgasm in thirty seconds flat; over the years, it had become instinctive for him. He could instantly tell by a woman's face the moment he discovered the perfect stoke, the perfect position, the perfect spot to place open mouth kisses along her sensitive flesh.

What Mark hadn't perfected, however, was the way in which a man woos a woman, the way he worships her and adores her in every possible way. He, of course, _did_ worship and adore women in his _own_ way, but that was only to the extent of worshiping their bodies and adoring the luscious feminine curves that he knew he would never get enough of. He appreciated everything about the female form, from the softness of a woman's body, to the feminine tone of their voices as they called his name in the throes of passion. This type of worshiping, though, did little to aid him in convincing members of the opposite gender that he was sensitive and respectful of his estrogen-filled peers.

Luckily for Mark, this detail had never gotten in the way of him finding satisfaction between the sheets. In his twenty years as a lover, he'd discovered that there were many beautiful women perfectly willing to drop their panties for him, despite his lack of romantic capabilities. In fact, Mark Sloan rarely had to put any effort into bedding a woman at all.

It was for this reason that he felt so utterly stumped when Isobel Stevens turned him down.

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He'd cornered her in the scrub room immediately following a surgery, watching her with hawk eyes as she cleansed her hands in the stainless steal sink overlooking the operating room. His eyes had roamed her form appreciatively, noting with approval that her killer body managed to look incredible, even in scrubs. This, not surprisingly, led him to wonder how her body would look _sans_ scrubs, perhaps stretched atop a pair of silky sheets supplied by the Archfield. He'd smirked at the thought.

She'd peered at him from the corner of her eye, scowling when she saw his cocky expression. "_What_?"

His smirk had deepened, and he'd dragged his eyes up to meet hers. "Why haven't I had you in my bed yet, Stevens?"

Izzie had rolled her eyes, shaking her hands free of excess moisture before grabbing a small towel. "I don't know Dr. Sloan, probably because I have enough dignity not to fall into bed with jackasses like you."

He'd chuckled at her feisty response as she'd slammed the door behind her, shaking his head as he attempted to recover from her witty bite. He hadn't been able to.

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For the next few weeks, Mark had become increasingly aware of Izzie's presence, his eyes following her as she moved about the hospital, his ears hanging on her every word as she spoke to patients and other members of the Seattle Grace staff. As he watched her, he became progressively more enthralled with everything that represented the compassionate, opinionated woman that she was. He loved the way she walked, the way she laughed, and even the way she rolled her eyes when he made a smartass comment. She, of course, was also undeniably beautiful, which Mark would readily admit was the initial reason he'd been drawn to her in the first place, but the more he was around her, the more he began to see the inner beauty of the spirited blonde bombshell.

Three weeks after their encounter in the scrub room, he jogged to catch up with her as she made her way through the lobby of the hospital, shrugging her arms in a light jacket as she prepared herself to enter the cool night air. "Dr. Stevens!"

She halted, turning on her heel as he approached her. "Yes, Dr. Sloan?"

Mark smiled charmingly as he stopped in front of her body, a smile that would have had most women on their backs in the span of five minutes. Much to his amusement, Izzie merely rolled her eyes. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime."

She looked at him disbelievingly, studying his face to gage the seriousness of his offer. "You want to have _dinner_ with me?"

"I do."

She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head lightly from side to side. "_Why_?"

"Because…because you _intrigue_ me."

Izzie wasn't sure if such a statement could be taken as a compliment, but for some unknown reason, it sounded like one as it escaped the lips of Mark Sloan. A smile spread across her face as she stared into his eyes. "I guess that sounds nice. Dinner, I mean…dinner sounds nice."

His grin broadened into a satisfied smile. "Great; since you're off tomorrow night, I'll pick you up around seven?"

Izzie was tempted to turn him down simply for the fact that he'd not only checked her schedule without her permission, but because he also arrogantly assumed that she didn't have anything better to do. Unfortunately, she actually _didn't_ have anything better to do, so she merely nodded in agreement.

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When Mark showed up at her doorstep promptly at seven o'clock the next evening, he was greeted by the disapproving stares of her roommates. He grinned at them as Meredith opened the door, ignoring their scowls as they studied him in the softly illuminated foyer. "So what exactly are your _intentions_ with Izzie?" Alex asked suspiciously, causing Mark to roll his eyes.

When Izzie walked down the stairs ten minutes later, Mark couldn't help but think that the roommate interrogation had been well worth it. She looked absolutely striking, outfitted in a slim black dress that fell to her knees, the v-neck showing off the perfect amount of cleavage to keep the look classy, yet undeniably sexy. "You look stunning," he told her, offering her his arm.

Mark had made reservations for them at a popular marina restaurant, and they were quickly seated at a romantic table for two. Izzie was pleasantly surprised by Mark's ability to make meaningful small talk; she'd partly expected their dinner conversation to consist of his smart-aleck comments and brash observations about her body, but she'd been wrong. Instead, he delighted her with tales of his childhood, telling her about his family and his close relationship with the Shepherds, as well as his humorous brushes with the law during his rebellious teenage years.

They both laughed throughout the entirety of the dinner, enjoying each other's company so much that neither wanted the night to end. It was for this reason that, at the end of their evening, Mark suggestively placed his hand on her bare skin as they stood on the front porch of her house. He gazed into her eyes, his fingertips running the length of her shoulder and sliding down her collarbone. She swallowed when his hand paused at the base of her neck, her eyes to fluttering closed as she sensed him leaning toward her.

The kiss was gentle, almost teasing, as Mark lightly moved his lips across hers. It was over just as quickly as it started, and she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling as she backed toward the door. "I had a really great time tonight," she told him, her hand blindly finding the knob as she continued to stare into his face.

"So did I," he responded with a smirk, stepping forward as she opened the door.

"Okay, well goodnight."

He chuckled, taking another step as she backed into the foyer. "It's still pretty early," he observed.

She rolled her eyes, moving so that her body was blocking the doorway. "I'm not sleeping with you tonight."

His smile faltered as he scrutinized the sincerity of her claim. "Really?" he asked, his face lit with disbelief. His eyes were teasing as he told her, "I don't think you realize what you'd be turning down, Izzie. I've been told on more than one occasion that I'm a bit of a sex god."

She folded her arms across her chest, her eyebrows rising as she watched him with unwavering intensity. "I don't sleep with men until _at least_ the fourth date."

At that, his smile completely disappeared. "Oh," he said simply, his hands falling to his sides. "_Seriously_?"

"Seriously," she smirked, watching his dejected face with amusement. "I don't fall into bed with just anyone, Mark."

Three minutes later, he was walking off the porch in defeat, wracking his brain with ways to entertain the object of his desire on _three_ more dates. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to take her out again, to spoil her rotten as he attempted to earn his way into her bed, but Mark had little experience with the actual dating aspect of a relationship.

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Because of this, his successful courting of Isobel Stevens was a sense of pride for Mark. He put a lot of effort into thinking about what would make her happy, and his effort paid off. Their second and third dates went off without a hitch, and they enjoyed themselves thoroughly as they got to know one another better.

The week following their dinner at the marina, Mark took Izzie to see a chick flick double feature. He didn't complain when she spent nearly ten minutes trying to choose between goobers and skittles, only to ignore her candy as she devoured his popcorn. More impressive, though, was that he didn't gripe _once_ during the more than four hours of foolishly romantic plotlines, that he didn't even roll his eyes when she wept against his shoulder. As she slipped her hand into his when they were exiting the theater, she couldn't help but ask him if he'd enjoyed the movies. "Hell no," he mumbled grumpily, causing her to laugh giddily as she playfully squeezed his fingers.

When they arrived at the indoor ice skating facility for their third date, Mark chivalrously wrapped his coat around her shoulders, grinning at her panicked expression. "I don't know how to skate," she protested self consciously, looking nervously at the teenagers gracefully gliding across the ice.

"Don't worry; I won't complain if you fall on top of me," he teased. He grabbed her hand, and within minutes they were each wearing a pair of rented skates, hobbling clumsily toward the rink. He held onto her the entire time, trying to teach her the skill he'd learned as a child in central park, but she'd had little coordination, and her wobbly ankles caused them to plummet to the ground time and time again. Her blissful laughter had been music to his ears, and he realized with amusement that the bruises covering his ass would well be worth it.

Their forth date proved to be troublesome, not because Mark had a problem coming up with an idea for the evening, but because Izzie had a problem fitting an evening into her schedule. Mark thought perhaps she was torturing him because, on her first night off in nearly two weeks following their ice skating adventure, she informed him that she needed to stay home and catch up on her laundry. He graciously replied that he would be happy to make _that_ their fourth date, that he'd bring over a bottle of champagne and help her sort her darks from her lights.

She looked at him with laughing eyes, leaning toward him so the nosy nurses standing around couldn't hear her words. "Trust me, Mark, that's _not_ how I'm going to let a _sex god_ see my panties for the first time." Yes, she was _indeed_ trying to torture him.

When he joined her at lunch the following day, he thoughtfully asked how her evening had turned out. "It was fine," she replied with a grin.

"You know, Iz, I've been thinking a lot about this. We have lunch together almost everyday. Shouldn't they all add up and count as our fourth date?"

She pursed her lips, seemingly pondering his suggestion. When her eyes met his once again, he could see the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. "No, no I don't think so."

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It was nearly two months after his post-op infatuation with Izzie had begun, and they were finally able find time for the highly anticipated Fourth Date. As he sat across from Izzie in the dimly-lit French bistro, admiring her in the snugly fit burgundy dress, he knew _exactly_ what her intentions were for the latter part of their evening.

It was then that Mark Sloan realized why he hated dating.

For eight weeks, his mind had been enthralled with the beautiful woman before him. He'd spent hours upon hours not only getting to know her, but getting to genuinely like her. He'd fantasized about their first night together, and now that it had finally arrived, Mark felt as jittery as he'd been when he'd first ridden Ellen Kaminski nearly twenty years before. This pre-romp nervousness was a new sensation for Mark, one that he knew with certainty he would be better without.

Izzie, however, looked perfectly at ease, chatting happily on the other side of the table as her hand unconsciously caressed the stem of her wine glass. Mark's eyes were drawn to her slender fingers, and he couldn't help but get aroused as he watched her hand slowly stroking the crystal up and down, up and down, up and down. _Oh, sweet mother of God_.

The more nervous he grew, the more often he found himself reaching for the vodka tonic sitting adjacent to his plate. One drink turned into two, and then two turned into three, and before Mark knew it, their bill had arrived, informing him he'd downed seven vodka tonics in only and hour and a half.

After a heated discussion concerning his level of intoxication, he grudgingly handed the keys over to Izzie, and she drove them back to her house on Queen Anne Hill. The moment he stepped out of the car after the short ride to her home, the alcohol hit with the force of a tractor trailer, and he swayed into the passenger side door.

She looked at him with annoyance when they entered the foyer, her eyes scanning his drunken face with disappointment. "Maybe…maybe we should just go to sleep. I don't think-"

He cut her off as his lips crashed into hers, and he pushed her against the front door, clumsily groping her with the precision of a blundering teenager. She winced as his hands carelessly gripped her breasts, massaging them through the material of her dress before dragging the slinky fabric down, exposing her skin as his mouth bent down to capture a nipple.

The hilarity of the situation didn't escape her as he slobbered his way down her body; Mark Sloan, manwhore and self-proclaimed sex god, was about to treat her to the kind of lay she would have expected from an inexperienced high schooler. He looked up at her earnestly as his hand found its way beneath her panties, his fingers fumbling across her skin awkwardly. "You like that?" he asked proudly, his face excited as his words slurred together.

"Uh…"

She was saved from having to answer the question when he pulled her to the ground, gripping her hips as he pushed her dress to her waist. This was definitely _not_ how she'd expected their evening to end up. So much for romance.

Within seconds, he'd tossed her panties to the side and gotten his slacks around his ankles, and then he was thrusting into her eagerly, his face twisting in pleasure as his body jerked with ungraceful speed. Izzie bit her lip, tallying the small cracks in the ceiling with mortifying boredom as he uncoordinatedly moved above her. "How's that?" he gasped, his fingers digging into her hips.

"Um…it's…it's fine," she mumbled, trying not to roll her eyes as let out a grunt.

Much to her relief, it was over before she'd run out of cracks to count, and he fell on top of her, his vodka-laden breath causing her to cringe as he panted against her face. She sighed, pushing gently against his shoulder. "We should probably get dressed and go upstairs," she said quietly. When he didn't respond, she turned her head to the side, scowling when she saw that he had passed out against her shoulder. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

She struggled to escape the weight of his body, sliding out from beneath him and straightening her dress as she stood to her feet. She shook her head sadly as she looked down at his naked backside, torn between appreciating the view and feeling irritated over having just had the worst sexual experience of her life. She frowned, bending down to the floor so that she could roll him onto his back and pull his pants over his hips.

She had just gotten them buttoned when the front door flew open. Izzie looked up sharply, her eyes wide as she watched Meredith and Derek walk in, only to immediately halt when they saw the large man spread out across the foyer.

Derek smirked as he took in Izzie's rumpled appearance, folding his arms across his chest. "What happened, Izzie? Did you kill him with your mighty sexual stamina?"

She glared at him, her hand unconsciously flying to her head to smooth down her messy locks. "Shut up, Derek."

After Meredith and Derek's fit of laughter at her expense, he kindly helped her drag a limp and mumbling Mark to the couch, where they settled him in for the night before retiring to their respective rooms.

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The next morning was undeniably awkward. Mark stumbled into the kitchen just as Izzie was downing the rest of her coffee, and he was met by the amused stares of her roommates the moment he walked through the doorway. He ignored them, looking at Izzie sheepishly as she rushed through the kitchen. "Uh, can I talk to you for a second?"

She glanced up, her cheeks reddening when she saw him standing in the threshold, his hair a mess and his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. "I'm running late," she explained lamely.

"Izzie-"

She could feel herself relenting the moment she saw his humiliated expression. "Um, okay, let's go in the living room."

He didn't meet her eyes as they walked through the foyer, too mortified to look at her. When they finally faced one another, his expression was apologetic, and she knew instantly that he remembered his not-so-impressive performance. "So about last night," he began nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Um, I'm not usually that…inept."

She nodded, but Mark could see by her face that she wasn't taking his words seriously. "It's not a big deal, Mark," she claimed tactfully.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head fervently. "Uh, _yeah_, it kind of is a big deal."

Izzie laughed nervously as she glanced over her shoulder into the empty hallway. "Look, I really don't have time to talk about this right now. I have to go to work."

He frowned, but chose not to fight her. "Right, okay…well how about lunch today?"

She looked hesitant, but eventually nodded in agreement. "Okay, I'll page you."

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He tried to broach the topic of their disastrous encounter again as they sat in the cafeteria later that afternoon. It wasn't that he was particularly enthusiastic to bring emphasis on his tarnished moment, but he needed to explain to Izzie that he wasn't normally such a boor in the sack; he had a reputation to uphold, after all. Izzie, however, was entirely uncomfortable with the situation, and much to Mark's dismay, she successfully evaded the topic by calling out to Meredith and Cristina as they walked past them, inviting her friends to sit at their table.

After his failed attempt to rectify the situation during their lunch break, he'd been distracted throughout the day, concerned not only because there was a woman in the world who believed him to be less than stellar in bed, but because that particular woman was the first person to worm her way into Mark's heart in quite some time. Certainly Mark couldn't have her believing he had the expertise of a virgin.

Unfortunately for him, their busy schedules kept them apart for the next few days, though Mark was highly suspicious that it wasn't merely their schedules that prevented his desired meeting. By this point, Mark was driving himself crazy, obsessing over his need to prove to Izzie that his Fourth Date Night behavior wasn't the norm.

Because of this, when he saw Izzie escaping into the tunnels on a Wednesday afternoon, Mark jumped at his chance, following her closely until he'd cornered her in the dimly-lit hallway. He'd tried to smile charmingly, cursing himself when the nervousness in the pit of his stomach reared its ugly head. "Um, hey," he stated anxiously.

She startled, her head flying up from the chart she was reading as she sat perched on a gurney. "Hey," she replied shakily. "You just scared the crap out of me."

He grinned sheepishly, apologizing as he sat down beside her. "So we need to talk about…about the other night."

She rolled her eyes, placing the chart on the gurney. "Mark, can't we just let it go? Bad sex happens sometimes."

"Not to _me,_" he immediately answered, his expression almost panicked as he shook his head adamantly. "That doesn't happen to me. I don't _have_ bad sex."

"Oh right," she replied sarcastically. "Because you're a _sex god_?" He scowled at her teasing comment, resisting the urge to nod his head. She sighed, her hand coming to rest on his. "Look, Mark, it's seriously not that big of a deal, okay? It…it doesn't make me like you any less."

He glared at her, standing up from the gurney. "I don't have bad sex," he confidently stated, staring at her intently. "When's your next night off?"

Her eyes widened at his implied promise. "On Sunday," she whispered.

He nodded, turning around and walking away. Before he disappeared through the doorway, she could hear him say of his shoulder, "Be ready at seven."

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Unfortunately for Mark, another thing that he hadn't perfected over the course of his life was the art of patience. By Wednesday night, his mind was running in circles as he fixated on ways to prove to Isobel Stevens that he was every bit the sex god that he'd boasted to be, and he realized what little self control he _truly_ had as he made the short drive to her house.

He was sitting on her porch waiting for her when she arrived home from work at nearly ten o'clock. He stood up when he saw her approaching, offering her his signature McSteamy smile with the knowledge that, while most women would swoon, Izzie would probably just roll her eyes. And she did.

"What're you doing here, Mark?"

He smirked, shrugging his shoulders as she unlocked the front door. "I guess I just couldn't wait until Sunday," he stated, looking around the foyer as they entered the house. "Where're your roommates?"

She sighed, running her hand through her hair. "They're at Joe's; I didn't go because I'm _tired_," she told him, emphasizing her exhaustion in the hopes that he would understand her need for sleep.

He grinned, placing his hands on the top of her arms and allowing them to travel down until he was grasping her fingertips. "Great, so we have the house to ourselves."

She fought the urge to groan as he tried to pull her to the staircase. "_Mark_, I'm exhausted. I've had a long day, and I have to get up at five o'clock tomorrow. I just want to go to bed."

He tugged gently on her hands, trying, once again, to compel her toward the stairs. "Perfect, going to bed is exactly what I had in mind. And don't worry; this won't take long," he promised, raising his eyebrows suggestively. After all, he _was_ the man who could bring a woman to a screaming orgasm in thirty seconds flat, so really, it didn't _have_ to take long.

It was her turn to smirk as she thought about their painfully short romp just a few days before. "Yes, I remember," she muttered.

He scowled, but didn't comment as she pulled her hand from his grasp and started walking toward the second floor. "Look, Mark, we're still on for Sunday, but right now, I'm tired and I'm going to bed. _Alone_. Please lock the door behind you."

Mark sighed as she walked up the stairs, remaining firmly planted in his spot until she had disappeared around the corner. With a frown, he finally turned around, grudgingly heading toward the front door. He paused when his hand was on the knob, though, scowling as he pictured himself in that exact same spot a few days before, groping Izzie with the kind of skill that would put any self-respecting man to shame. With a groan, his hand dropped away from the knob, and he turned toward the stairs in search of Izzie's bedroom.

She glared at him when he opened her door, self consciously folding her arms across her chest as she stood in the middle of her room, wearing only a tank top and a pair of white cotton panties. _High cut_ white cotton panties made purely for comfort. _Fabulous_. "What the hell are you doing? I told you that I'm tired, Mark. I'm going to bed."

He grinned, shutting the door behind him and walking to stand in front of her, unfolding her arms and dropping them by her side. Her nipples puckered the second his eyes began to roam her body, and with that, he knew he was back in the game. "Don't worry, Iz, I'll make it worth your while."

"But-"

He silenced her as his lips molded across hers, massaging them gently with the tip of his tongue as he guided her to the bed covered with a dark pink comforter. He grinned against her lips, his heart fluttering in excitement as she lifted her arms in accord, allowing him to pull the flimsy tank top away from her body.

He lowered her to the mattress, and she raised her hips so that he could edge her panties down her legs. "These are _sexy_," he mocked, smirking as he pulled them from her body.

"Shut _up_," she sulked.

He climbed above her, grabbing her calves and pushing her body toward the headboard, situating himself in between her legs as her back slid across the duvet. He grinned as her toes curled before he'd even touched her, her eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.

He'd intended to promptly bring her to climax, to drive her over the edge hard and fast so that there would be no room for her to doubt his ability. The second he touched her, however, she muttered his name with such desire that Mark knew he couldn't let it end so quickly. He suddenly wanted to court Isobel Steven's body the same way he'd courted her heart.

He lavished her luscious curves with the softest of touches, with the lightest of kisses, attending to every inch of her flesh in a manner that had her writhing against the sheets within minutes. The instant he took the tip of her breast in his mouth, she moaned, causing her eyes to widen in surprise, her hands flying up to clamp over her mouth as though she were embarrassed that he could so _easily_ illicit such a sound.

He smirked, continuing his journey southward as he listened to her soft breaths become uneven pants. Her fingers gripped the cotton duvet, squeezing it in frustration when his mouth hovered at the crest of her inner thigh, refusing to give her what her body so painfully needed. "Mark…" she breathed, realizing with displeasure that she wasn't above begging.

"Hmmm?"

His eyes met hers, his twinkling with mischief as he continued to tease her with gentle caresses, but he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out any longer the moment he recognized the mixture of pleasure and misery twisted on her face. She bit down on her lip, throwing her head back as he finally gave in to her desire, bestowing her body with the kind of pleasure only the most intimate of lovers could bequeath.

Within moments, every nerve in her body was on fire as she was assailed with wave after wave of indescribable pleasure. Her toes curled, her hips arching off the bed as sounds from deep within her throat sprang forth. She shuddered, her entire body tensing as an orgasm rocked her all the way to her toes.

Mark smirked in satisfaction, bringing himself to his hands and knees, crawling until he was directly over her body. He said nothing as he watched a sated smile stretch across Izzie's face, her body remaining completely limp against the bed.

When her eyes finally fluttered open, her gaze connected with his, and her mind registering the triumphant look on Mark's face. In the back of her mind, she realized with amusement that she didn't even feel annoyed by his obvious pride. That man _deserved_ to be proud.

She smiled lazily, her hand coming up to slowly caress his forearm. "Well, I guess they were right," she quietly murmured.

Confusion marred his face as he studied her. "What do you mean?"

She licked her lips, her gaze momentarily settling on his mouth. "You _are_ a sex god."

He laughed, the deep, hearty noise sounding loud in the otherwise quiet house. "Well then just _wait_ until I actually get to the sex part," he teased, bending his head so that he could nuzzle the ticklish skin on her neck.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Oh yeah, let's do _that_."

And that's how Mark Sloan, now _reformed_ manwhore, regained his title of The Sex God.

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**Love it? Hate it? I'd love to know.**


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